


You Built A Time-Machine, Out Of An F-14?! (Who Does That?)

by Pink_and_Velvet



Series: I’d Know You No Matter Who We Were [10]
Category: Back to the Future (Movies), Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dogfights, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F-14s, F-18s, F/M, Falling In Love, Forgotten friendship, LGBTQ Themes, Loss of Identity, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Multiple Personas, Singing, Sleepovers, Time Travel, US Navy, falling in love all over again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-08 10:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20833952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: November 5th 1965: The Dogfight of both Mitchell’s lives. Or, the last day Maverick had awoken in his 1985. Or, the last day he was legally a part of the Navy. Or, the last day with Goose at his back and Iceman holding his hand.Or, the notorious day that Maverick introduced a whole new wave of attack aircraft to the joy of every one of America’s enemies.He’s a civilian now in need of a decommissioned fighter to propel him back to his 1985 tangent. Woah, this is definitelyheavy.TheBack To The Futuretrilogy (plus pretty much any and all film involving time travel) AU ofTop Gunthat nobody asked for.





	1. That’s The Power Of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of love to the Icemav marvel that is boasamishipper, for help with plot ideas and development especially with the multiple 1985 timelines. I owe a hell of a lot to you girl, I hope I don’t ruin one of your favourites!! 💕
> 
> As this fic progresses, the ratings and tags will likely change.

Kawasaki tyres screeched down the streets of San Diego, submerged in a haze of smoke. Maverick swore as he killed the engine and checked his watch. He cursed Goose, or was it Bradley, for having tinkered with the clocks in their shared house. He was late for class: Charlie’s class. It was nothing new but since their little fling had crashed and burned he honestly couldn’t bring himself to care, to focus on what she had to say.

He knew a certain someone would have something to say about his tardiness.

A certain ice cold someone.

The certain ice cold someone who was hovering in his parking space, arms folded with a blonde eyebrow raised.

“Christ Maverick, can’t you even read the damn time? We’ll be late for Blackwood—“ He cut Iceman off by yanking him down by the collar and kissing him, hard.

It was quick and it was dirty with Iceman pulling away, breathless, and the ghost of a smile coating the blush in his face. He pouted as Maverick clambered off of his bike and followed him up the steps.

Every morning, for about three weeks now, Iceman had waited in the very same spot: aviators on and a distinct scowl firmly in place. His stance screamed the obvious ruse to the fellow pilots and staff who passed through the TOPGUN doors. Every morning Maverick was late however every morning he’d manage to sneak a sloppy kiss before Iceman re-immersed himself within his ice cold façade and fought with malice, to blow Maverick from the sky.

***

”One day they really need to sort out that thing.” Maverick was laughing as he pointed to the observation tower. Or, rather the cracks in the window.

“And you seriously thought that _you_ were the first pilot to fly that low and ruin it?” Iceman asked, scanning the tarmac as together they walked, hands brushing.

Maverick was silent, shielded eyes not hiding his contemplation.

“Fucking hell, Mitchell.” Iceman chuckled, a momentary emotion that made Maverick’s heart leap at the very sound. “Rumour has it, it was struck by lightning in the sixties.”

”Really? That’s kinda awesome.”

”Precisely the sort of warning they needed that the _Fist Of The Fleet _would be sweeping in, to cook up a storm.” Iceman winked, Maverick near enough ignoring him.

“My ole man must’ve done countless fly-by’s. He was just the type, ya know?”

“Not at all, Mitchell. Mine would never and he’d skin the idiot alive that would dare to defy his orders.”

Maverick let that one slide.

“Someday they’ll save it, Kazansky. Save the observation tower.”

“Maybe if, oh I don’t know, you flew by low enough to shatter all the windows or a freaking lightning bolt struck it then yes.”

“Well, how ‘bout it Mr Blue Lightning Bolt?”

Iceman rolled his eyes. He regarded Maverick, who immediately felt scrutinised, the smirk and then he met him with one of his own. Next, his big bad wolf smile. Maverick was grabbed by the sweaty palm and whisked around a dark corner. Iceman boxed him in, he was dwarfed as Iceman pushed him further against the brick. Iceman’s deft hands were everywhere: tugging at buttons and zips with force. Iceman’s sudden rutting up against Maverick, the sudden rise in his blood pressure, told Maverick that it was going to be a hell of a night.

Unless Goose had anything to say about it. Which tonight, he most certainly did.

  
***

”You mean to tell me that _you_ Nicholas Bradshaw, built a _time-machine?_ Out of an F-14?! Who does that?”

“The United States Government.” Goose barked, saluting with a huge grin in place. “No seriously, Mav. This is the workin’ of a certain load of shit heads in the Pentagon.”

Together Iceman and Maverick stood astonished, hand in hand, as Goose led the two pilots around the deserted hangar.

There were loose files and papers, blueprints of abandoned jet plans and missile designs. Flight gear lay forgotten in an old, rusty and open locker, the cracked helmet, ripped and perhaps burnt flight suit; beckoning Maverick to it.

Maverick raised an eyebrow as he turned back to Iceman at the other side of the hangar. How neither of them hadn’t known about an extra freaking hangar in Miramar was beyond them both.

“How do we know it works?” Hazel eyes fixed themselves atop of the smooth metal as Iceman rubbed his palms across her, sighing as he did so.

Silence.

“Okay Mitchell, Bradshaw. You’re leading me on. The hell is this horse shit?”

“It’s heavy, Kazansky. _Heavy_.” Maverick stated, thrusting some plans into Iceman’s hands.

“What are we, in the fifties suddenly Mav?” Goose chuckled as he sidled up on Iceman’s side.

“Yeah Mitchell. I haven’t heard anyone say _that_ since my father, before Vietnam.”

“Could be, guys, could very well be.” They shared a bemused look.

“I don’t- Mitchell, what is all this?” Maverick watches Iceman worry the papers about in his hands, blonde eyebrows furrowing deep.

Iceman took a seat beneath the wing of the jet, coaxing Maverick down with him. He wrapped one long, secure and overly tanned arm around his shoulder as he surveyed the plans. Maverick tensed and Goose, Goose immediately knew why.

“A-4, USS _Oriskany_.”

Maverick broke away at that, defecting to Goose’s side of the triangle.

“Maverick? Is this, isn’t this what happened.. to your father?” Iceman’s voice was cautious, bordering on calculative. “What happened to him? All I ever knew was that you were practically Navy-inbred but that was information from Hollywood that I could never decide was bullshit or not.”

In their three weeks of a whirlwind ‘will they, won’t they? Holy shit they are’ relationship, Maverick had steadfastly avoided that very statement. He knew that he was judged enough for snatching Cougar’s worthy spot and once rumours of his father’s service history had swept its way through the showers, every instinct told him to fight harder and harder than the sortie before. More dangerous.

Maverick startled at the sudden clap of a hand on his shoulder. He leaned into Goose’s embrace, as he tried to steady his breathing. Maybe they weren’t rivals as such anymore, at least not privately, but crying in front of Iceman was something he demanded from himself that he would never do.

Oh, fuck it.

The wild tears streamed down his face as he stuttered and stumbled, words wishy-washy as Iceman tried to associate the situation.

“Fuck, Mitchell. I’m.. I’m so _sorry_.” Iceman was on his hands and knees, crawling over to the squirming wreck that was Maverick in that moment.

Goose’s grip on him faltered as he stepped back, guiding Maverick into Iceman’s open arms. Iceman just sat there, arms bound around his back tight. He kissed Maverick’s temple and, from what Goose could see, Maverick’s inner fire was simmering into a spark. Together he and Iceman had tamed his raging flame.

“If this time-machine really works.. you know you could save him.”

Maverick disengaged, red eyes taking in the sincerity of Iceman’s own watery ones.

Iceman’s mouth was moving fast and before he could stop himself, “Mav, _save_ him.” Both Maverick’s and Goose’s eyes widened at that.

“I don’t.. I can’t.. Can’t fly an A-4.”

“Ya’ll can fly an F-14, Mav.”

Iceman beamed as the realisation suddenly had hit Goose.

“But.. but there, there are.. _two_ seats and one time-machine, Kazansky. I don’t want to fly without you.”

Maverick’s heart clenched as he saw Iceman deflate, focusing his gaze on the ground.

“No, the two of you go. You need the right man to watch your back. I’ll be right here when you get back to.. the present? Today, tomorrow?”

“The future, Kazansky.” Maverick hastily wiped at the last remnants of his tears. “The _future_.”

Maverick had always been more than ready to take a risk, to charge headfirst into the fray, not at all scared about whether he’d crash and burn. However it didn’t escape him just how sure and assertive Iceman was being here, knowing what was best and bypassing all the risk. Perhaps Maverick was melting the Iceman’s own self restraint which scared him a little, if Maverick was truly being honest with himself.

Granted neither of them had any clue of the risk but what they did know was that if there was a chance in hell Maverick could avenge his father, to save another life, he’d do it. He’d absolutely mother-fucking do it with Goose at his back, of course, where he belonged. Rules and regulation be damned.

“Go get your flight suits on.” Iceman winked as Maverick lurched forward, catching his lips in a bruising kiss. “You want a little picture to remember me by?” Iceman teased, pouting.

“Already do in my locker. You’re naked and sprawled out across the bed with a pillow covering your cock.”

Iceman could’ve smacked him, he was too stunned to launch an attack.

“I’ll be sure to snatch it and keep in my flight suit along with me and Goose-“

“-Better beware of Jet blast!” Goose chimed in, giving him the thumbs up to illustrate.

Maverick’s chest shook as he laughed wild and free. Within moments he was accompanied by the strong chuckle of Iceman. A true and genuine chuckle.

Goose, although he found the whole ‘Icemav affixiation’, as he had come to call it in his head alarming, just watched them with a huge and adventurous smile.

***

“November 5th 1965. What’dya say Mav, settlin’ on Oriskany a couple days before or just for the dogfight?”

“Vietnam, November 5th 1965.”

The hangar doors parted as Maverick manoeuvred a foreign, untamed beast to the landing strip. He flashed Iceman a playful salute as her engines purred, as her after burners screamed and the Tomcat was bought to life under his renegade touch.

“Let’s see if this baby can do ninety.” Maverick muttered, knowing that for sure this baby would propel him to a new Mach in ninety seconds.

That wasn’t at all what he had meant.

***

He had imagined his father’s final flight more times than he had eaten hot, home cooked meals. It was hell. Whatever happened was always a blur but hell, hell was the only part of the nightmare that Maverick could recall. He’d awoken in cold sweats years after his father’s passing when something or someone he didn’t want to think about, encountered him in his jet that day. Something that maybe Duke had done. Someone that maybe was the reason he hadn’t returned. Maverick willed his thoughts to stop.

He wasn’t even sure how but within moments he and Goose were the wingmen of a whole other age. The planes, the radar, the men masked and nameless were all new. Old? Strange. Old and strange. Nothing felt right. From the roar of the high sea’s to a decommissioned aircraft carrier that he’d only been haunted by, suddenly being resurrected as though Maverick was meant to be there. Strange. Terrifyingly strange.

It didn’t stop him giving his all by any means.

The Tomcat stuck out like well, how a Tomcat would in a sea of Corsairs the way a sixties Corsair would stick out amongst a ray of eighties Tomcats. Maverick had always admired them but was plagued with the what if’s, what had’s… what he was thankful his good old, wait no, not yet invented, Grumman hadn’t plunged him into. Not yet, anyway.

Or had plunged Iceman and Slider into, for that matter.

“Shouldn’t we really cover this thing?”

“How the hell would we do that, Mav? Let ‘er float by along side whilst ya hijak an A-4 ya can’t fly?” Goose’s sing-songy tone sung of disbelief. Maverick pouted.

“A Tomcat can take.. whatever the hell Communists can throw at her. Hands down.”

“They won’t know what hit ‘em, Mav.”

It was supposed to be a forced landing, distressed and wild, that Maverick would make. They were friendly, insistent of it, and were thankful that the insignia left little to argue with but instead: balls to the wall no holes barred, Mav. The dogfight was rife, Two A-4’s against five or six.. Maverick didn’t even know what they were. Just black and scary. MiG 15s?

He knew the jet as soon as his heated gaze hit it. _Duke_.

“Six ‘o’ clock low, Mav. What bought him down?”

“It’s all classified. Haven’t a fucking clue. Guess’ll just have to wait and shoot these sons of bitches.”

Goose hollered his approval as Maverick banked right, fighting every damn thought that dared to change his mind, that dared him to bug out.

Not that he should’ve been there to begin with.

The Tomcat dwarfed every jet, speeding straight past bogey after bogey, twisting and turning through the enraged skies. Missiles were fired and bombs were dropped on both ends and all Maverick could do was hold on. Hold on tight, not loose his edge.

“Stay with Viper, Mav. Cover his wing.”

“Who?” Holy shit.

Maverick tailed the friendly, pulling rolling reversals, Immelmann turns and whatever the hell else. Screw it, just because he wouldn’t encounter Commander Metcalfe for another twenty years, doesn’t mean that he can’t show him what he’s got now. Or Lieutenant Metcalfe, whatever.

Another round of gunshots blinded his cockpit, he hit the brakes and ascended upwards, coaxing the MiG away from its firing position. He flew in beside an A-4, took a single glance to its pilot and he froze. Stalling his engine.

The action hadn’t gone unnoticed, with Goose yelling behind him, anything to shake Maverick from his daze. The pilot, the friendly, was riding his wing, trying to pull Maverick from the biggest shock of his life. That very pilot.

“_Dad_”

Sirens blared, altitude dropped and he was bought back to consciousness, recovering the Tomcat and preventing the spin. The radio screeched, the comm’s were riddled with screams and hollers, demanding Maverick explain what he was doing there. Maverick didn’t answer to anyone other than Goose, sometimes, so he just flicked his switch and took down MiG after MiG. Two missiles, unlike anything the world had ever known. Both A-4s followed, deftly avoiding the attack of the enemy aircraft.

Duke broke a hard right, selected zone five and pulled up to escape. He was safe. Viper was safe, bugging out but safe.

Duke was safe. _Saved_.

He had meant to land his Tomcat on deck and re-fuel. Had they even invented what she’d need? Taking the infamous gamble Maverick and Goose fell into formation, following the first TOPGUN of 1963 and the man who no longer would accost him his own reputation, keep him out of schools and away from following his dreams.

Maverick called the ball, dropped the wheels and slammed into the carrier, gigantic wings barely missing the tops of two wayward Corsair’s. He shut of the roaring engines and began to disembark, a hand already heading for his aviators.

“Mav!” Goose screeched.

Maverick returned his Ray-Ban’s to his pocket.

“Guess we owe it to ya big time.. who the hell are you, Lieutenant?” Maverick was stood face to face with Viper.. Lieutenant Metcalfe. He felt the usual sea of dominance bleed from him and he relaxed his spine. “What are those.. patches?”

He didn’t outrank him, yet.

“Lieutenant—“ Goose elbowed him, not so nicely in ribs, “—_Cruise_ reporting for duty.”

They both watched as a young, alarmingly approachable Viper furrow his brow.

“And you are?”

“Lieutenant JG.. Edwards.. yeah. _Edwards_.”

Goose cast Maverick a sideways glance that told him ‘fuck, he’s onto us. Let’s bug out, please’ but no, Viper just grinned as he extended his hand.

Maverick took it, pride radiating through him.

“Hey Mike, are those the guys who saved your ass?!”

“Yours too.” He laughed as another figure came into view, removing his helmet.

Maverick’s eyes widened, he shifted awkwardly as he fought not to lurch himself forward and wrap his hands around—

“—Duke. Lieutenant Mitchell, whichever you prefer.” He shook Maverick’s suddenly sweat soaked palm. “Are you alright, son? You look a little…”

_Son_.

Maverick didn’t hear a single word. He focused all his attention on the man before him: his chiseled jaw, his ruffled jay black hair. Goose just stared and stared, mouth agape. He comically pivoted back and fourth between Mav and Duke. Mav and Duke. Mav and.. his father. The legendary screw-up himself.

Who perhaps wasn’t a screw-up anymore.

Oh no.

Duke was just smiling as Mike took over, pulling Maverick’s attention in that weird, overpowering way he had. The father figure way he had.

“_Pete_.” He cleared his throat, finally able to engage.

“Pete?” Duke questioned, “huh, that’s a nice name.”

Finally Goose chipped in about something resembling their next assignment that would have them flying out first thing in the morning. Maverick just nodded and nodded, cautious as to not say anything and raise suspicion.

He regarded Duke a final time, eyes roaming over every laughter and scowl line, every patch he wore with pride, the moustache Maverick had always known he could never pull off, every wrinkle in his flight suit. Maverick tugged Goose over and within moments, Duke and Mike were lost from his sight.

***

“I really don’t want to leave him. Can you imagine, us here together? Goose, we could catch up on so much and I—“

“—Mav. I’ve got a family to think about. You have your whole life in 1985. Duke’ll be there. He’ll be there waitin’. It’ll be like ya never left.”

“But what about—“

“—_Kazansky_.”

Maverick straightened up, shaking his head. He broke into a grin, so huge it threatened to split his face.

“Think of Ice, man. He’s waitin’ for you. He really cares ya know.”

“Thanks, Goose.”

Goose wrapped an arm around his shoulder and Maverick clutched to him, tight and grounded.


	2. Ice. Ice Is That You?

The trip back was bearable, his stomach was lurching in a new and unfamiliar way that Maverick never thought his Tomcat could give him. It was strange but he chose not to dwell on it.

It was nearing 04:00 hours and Iceman wasn’t anywhere in sight. Maverick decided that he would sneak back and surprise him in the morning, when the Iceman began to slowly thaw between Maverick’s own rumpled cream sheets.

The hangar doors were wide open and Maverick guided his Tomcat through, stalling her engine to a mere purr. Maverick popped open the canopy and began to make his descent, muttering nothing in particular to Goose.

Goose, who wasn’t there.

“Goose? _Goose_!” He called, clambering back up into the cockpit, the cockpit, of.. he didn’t know what. “You stupid son of a— don’t play with me here?!”

He yelled and screamed as he stumbled away from the jet, taking in the sights. His beloved twin tailed Tomcat was no longer alone, sitting beside a jet of a similar build but somehow sleeker, more imposing. Anything but a Tomcat.

Maverick hadn’t seen the jet before in his life.

He backed away; chanting Goose’s name over and over. He turned on his heel and ran straight for the parking lot, only the small runways lights guiding him.

The car park was empty and his head span. He had parked his bike out front in the same space since day one at TOPGUN. His ninja was nowhere to be seen. Maverick squinted, rubbed at his eyes and shook his head again.

“It’s just a dream.. it’s gotta be a dream.”

He practically bolted the entire way home.

Outside of the door to his and Goose’s shared flat he fumbled with his keys, the light on the porch was out. He had replaced the bulb only last week.

Panting and disheveled, Maverick collapsed onto the sofa rubbing profusely at the sweat that coated his face. He took in a deep breath and forced himself to sleep, delving deep into the nightmare he was sure to be having.

***

He was awoken somewhere around noon to a happy and cheerful voice, one that flowed straight through him.

“Oh Pete, what happened to you? I was so worried that I-“ Pregnant pause, “that’s a nice jacket.”

He sat up straight, rubbing at his eyes.

“Thanks, I’ve had it since I was—“

Maverick could’ve fainted.

He squinted, blinking rapidly, eyes running all over. He scanned his surroundings taking in the foreign light in the room, the more dainty and flirtatious feel. His eyes fell back to the figure with blonde eyebrows furrowed and ruby red lips pouted.

“Charlie?”

“Pete, what’s wrong? You’re acting like you haven’t seen me in a week?” She was cut off by his sudden rise to his feet.

He sprinted up to his bedroom, to Goose’s— the guest bedroom. He deflated. His heart was racing, more and more pictures of he and Charlie coming into view. He stumbled through the doors and into their bedroom and there he saw it, saw everything he thought he never wanted right there, staring at him, laughing in the face.

Shakily he picked up the picture frame, eyes adjusting to all of the white. Charlie was beaming, bouquet in one hand, the other pushing her veil from her face as it blew in the wind. He was suited and stylish, laughing as he too tried to get control of her veil. They were littered with confetti, petals and lace, all the white Maverick had never thought he would ever see.

“July 1983” He breathed. “1983? What year is it?” Maverick asked, falling atop of the bed.

“What do you mean, it’s still 1985 for just under another six months.”

“1985, it’s got to be.. this isn’t the right.. holy shit.”

He turned all his attention to the frame, lying on his back, dangling inches from his face.

“Nineteen. Eighty. Fi—“ his clutch on the frame faltered, it collided with his face, cutting deep into his forehead leaving blood behind.

Maverick’s world went black.

***

“Ice. Ice is that you?” He murmured, groggily bringing a hand to his forehead. It was batted away in an instant.

“Oh god, Pete. Pete you’re okay, you’re okay, you blacked out and I.. who’s Ice?”

Pete startled awake, spine jolting upright.

“You’re my.. you’re my.. my, uh.”

“Wife.”

“You’re my.. _wife_.” He repeated in a huff as he scrambled to his feet.

Pete stumbled backwards with his eyes averted, landing anywhere but on Charlie. The look of concern and hurt that he had never seen before. He spun around and was met by another imposing figure, sharing him down with a scrutinising gaze. He froze.

“Da.. dad.”

Duke’s eyes narrowed as Pete bought a hand up to his forehead.

“Get yourself into another bar fight, huh? What is it with you, you stupid-“

“-Photo frame. I.. I dropped it.” He admitted, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Pete!” He ignored Charlie’s hiss, “that’s no way to talk to an-“

“—Admiral of the United States Navy, son. You listen to that wife o’ yours.”

“My.. my, fuck.” He rubbed at his forehead, brushing past the admiral.

He spurted something daft about needing some air and pointedly ignored the irritated looks that shot straight through him. The seizing up by his father and wife. His wife.

“This can’t be.. this can’t be happening, why would I?” He cut himself off halfway out of his front door. Pete leapt to his drive, the slick BMW that he remembered Charlie once driving, the first time she tailed him.

His motorcycle wasn’t next to it. It wasn’t Goose’s car. It wasn’t his bike. He frowned and ran.

***

Maverick stumbled, colliding straight into a man in a shorts and a casual shirt.

”Oh I’m sorry, sorry.. fuck.” Maverick stiffened, mouth hanging open, “Stinger, sir.”

Stinger? What in holy hell was he doing here? Shouldn’t he still be awaiting to berate his ass aboard the USS Enterprise?

“Sir, why are you here?”

He was met by an irritated look, somehow more distinct and dominating than before.

“The hell are you and what are you doing running around like a mad man with his hair on fire in the middle of the street?”

”Sir? It’s me, Maverick. Pete Mitchell. I flew in your squadron, sir, aboard the US—“

“—I haven’t been aboard any ships since ‘78. I’ve been a teaching in Hill Valley ever since. Go by Strickland, now.”

“Mr... _Strickland_? Shit, I’m really losing it.” Maverick stuttered turning on his heel, running as fast as his legs could carry him.

”_Slacker_!”

***

The day passed in a blur. He didn’t know who he was, where he was or wait no, back up. It was still Miramar, hounded by jet after jet that shook the ground below. The sea still glistened in the sunset, the sunset still painted the solitary skies but he wasn’t the same. He wasn’t Maverick.

“Maverick? Who’s _Maverick_?”

He was Pete Mitchell, that much he knew.

Apparently he had been heard questioning everything, as his father appeared at his side. Pete didn’t answer.

“I have invited a Commander around for dinner tonight, to congratulate him on his promotion. He graduated top of the class.”

“A _Commander_?” Pete straightened up.” Let me get on my whites.”

“What whites? Christ, how hard did you hit your head this time?” Duke stated, tone oddly disruptive.

“_This_ Time?”

Pete grunted in frustration and headed up the stairs to his and Charlie’s bedroom. He headed straight to his cupboard, pawing through for the uniform he knew was hanging… nowhere.

He screamed his throat raw.

“There’s no navy. Goose didn’t return with me, I’m married and I don’t know where the fuck Iceman is. If I’m not in the navy then that means.. holy shit.” Pete was standing face to face with his reflection, fogging up the mirror more as he spoke.

He kept his voice low as he tied his tie, after having struggled the last three times. Tears pricked at his eyes and he bit them back in a shaky breath. He cursed, inching away from the mirror to turn and face the bed.

The bed was made with pristine white sheets. They had a weird sheen to them that of course a navy guy couldn’t identify but he wasn’t in the navy anymore. Maybe a small part of him knew what the material was. Maybe he knew they were satin but refused to think about why he could recall such a pointless detail.

His eyes fell to the dressing table, the makeup and jewellery that dusted it. He could make out Charlie’s garish red lipstick a mile away and perhaps yes, he now _did_ know the name for the exact shade. Perhaps he also now knew which perfume she wore with pride.

He didn’t want to think why he could recall such idiotic details.

Pete trudged his way down the stairs, suited and stylish, ready for whatever asshole commander his father was likely to flaunt in his face. He took a seat at the already made dinner table and caught sight of Charlie. Her blonde locks flowed free, her shapely legs were kept confined by a sleek pencil skirt and her blouse, she probably should’ve done up the top button. The last thing he would want is for the commander to be focusing on what apparently betrothed itself to him and his touch only. Wait-

The touch that he _too_ had betrothed to her. The touch that meant he was hers. He _belonged_ to her.

He had never wanted to be owned by anybody. Wasn’t that why it hadn’t worked the first time?

She planted a quick kiss on his cheek, shaking him from his daze before heading back into the kitchen. Since when did she cook?

The newly decorated Commander was meant to be rolling in around 20:00 hours. His father had insisted that Pete be punctual as, apparently, this guy really was a stickler for rules and schedules.

Pete was sure he hated the guy already.

He was halfway into a beer when the doorbell rang. Charlie whisked past Pete, heels tapping with every step as she practically twirled her way to the door. From where Pete was sat, he couldn’t see the man as he entered and asserted his dominance over Charlie. He could only hear the footsteps and a low rumble of voices once his father joined the conversation.

“Fuck it.” Pete mumbled, downing the rest of the can in one.

He stood up straight ready to salute when his heart momentarily stopped beating.

“You’re my.. You’re my.. Oh god.”

His father had clapped a hand on his shoulder and he was talking and talking. Pete didn’t hear a word of it. He was caught in a trance, enraptured by the slick blonde hair, the glaringly hot gaze that burned a hole straight through his stomach. His eyes were sharp like a hawk; his mouth parted and—

“Commander Thomas Kazansky” The Admiral boomed.

“_Iceman_.” Pete let out, voice cracking.

The Commander’s eyebrows shot upwards with a challenging look painting his face. Pete inwardly swore, he hadn’t introduced himself yet. Wait yes he had, in the officers club back when they were—

“How did..” Tom’s voice faded as he cocked his head, regarding Pete.

“Call it a hunch” He replied, lamely.

The Commander just kept on walking. Pete felt his cheeks heat, his heart was beating faster and faster and it hurt. Everything hurt. Why did everything hurt?

He realised far too late into the evening that the Commander was sitting directly opposite him, wine glass in hand, the smallest smile tugging at his lips.

“Commander Kazansky, it is a _pleasure_ to welcome you onboard. TOPGUN is lucky to have you. We haven’t seen a man so technically proficient since well, myself. You have dethroned me and I will forever truly hate you for it.” The Admiral’s voice was light.

The Commander chuckled half-heartedly, Pete knew he was praying for it to all be a joke.

Pete himself was fidgeting in his seat, tapping atop of the table. The Commander turned his gaze away from the Admiral, taking hold of his fork and fiddling with it. His fork rolled over each knuckle, a graceful dance that maybe was supposed to voice his disinterest or to entertain himself, Pete wasn’t sure. The Admiral kept talking and the Commander’s fork flowed faster.

“I’ll go and check on Charlotte. Dinner is taking an awfully long time.” Pete watched as his father upped, leaving him and Ice- _Commander Kazansky _alone.

“So” He stuttered, “TOPGUN huh? You’re everything he wants in a pilot, right.”

The Commander snorted.

“You’ll never be able to live up to his expectations. For your own sake Ice- Tom, don’t be too hard on yourself.”

The Commander’s eyes shot up. Those eyes that once roamed shamelessly over Pete’s naked form now fought to stay on his heated face.

“He’s a tough man to please but, you’ll do yourself plenty’a favours staying outta the way.”

The Commander just nodded, lips parted.

“If I need your opinion Mitchell, I’ll ask for it.”

Pete felt his stomach drop. He hadn’t heard that tone since, since well, the locker room. But Iceman wasn’t here to berate him for his flying, Commander Kazansky was here expecting to be paraded about in front of him and so far, that wasn’t happening. The arrangement wasn’t working, for anyone.

Pete ate in near virtual silence. The occasional hum here and chuckle there, mostly when Charlie mentioned something that had happened at TOPGUN and she and the Commander were reminiscing about something. The callsign ‘Cougar’ popped up a lot.

Pete took note: his replacement. No, Maverick was Cougar’s replacement. Wasn’t that how Iceman once saw him?

He also took note of when the Commander drank, the deeper the flush the wine would give him. By the end of the night he was practically glistening, gracing Pete with his shiny white teeth. His guard was down, regulations forgotten.

God, how much Pete missed that smile.

***

The Admiral had ordered Pete to help the Commander back to his taxi, which the Commander readily declined. He decided to walk back, clutching to a chair as he graced the admiral with a final salute. Pete at least figured he should help him down the drive.

“Sorry I.. I usually don’t, d-don’t drink so much” the Commander’s voice was small, strained.

“I know. You drink when your nervous. You’ve gotta have something in ya hands.” Pete mumbled, not too sure whether he wanted the Commander to hear him or not. “What’s your callsign?”

Commander Kazansky looked up at Pete, expectant. Maybe the alcohol had fogged up the Commander’s mind because he answered without a sneer.

“Iceman.”

“No shit.”

“You said so earlier, Pete, correct?”

Pete was bordering on drunk too so maybe he clutched the Commander’s arm a little tighter.

“Y-yeah, man. Yeah.”

Silence.

“That wife of yours.” Iceman began, “she really is.. something.”

“Wha?”

“Her eyes, man. They.. they wander. But never like how she” Pete steered them both into the road, Iceman laughed deftly avoiding a mail box, “she, l-looks at you. I wish I, I could.. have that.”

“A wife who stares down ev’ry other man she meets?” Pete murmured, trying not to trip over Iceman’s feet.

With no Maverick snapping at the Iceman’s heels, didn’t that just pave the way for any woman to get into Iceman’s pants? Wouldn’t he have wanted that?

“You wanna do her, Kaza—Kanask-y, Ka_zan_sky. Be my guest.”

Iceman stopped stumbling, shaking himself free from Pete’s vice grip. Pete turned and swore which didn’t go unnoticed.

“I.. uh, that sounds like a, like a family, _family_ issue.”

“What you, ya d-don’t,” He hiccuped, “don’t like that tail, Ice?”

He saw the Commander’s cheeks darken. Even in the moonlight, he was somehow still so perfectly lit.

“She’s your wife, have some.. some fuckin’ respect.” Pete watched, barely biting back his retort, as he watched the lean and imposing silhouette blur deeper into the dead of the night.

***

Another night and another meeting with the Commander. Commander Kazansky. Pete was really starting to like the way that sounded.

The Commander was hunched over the table explaining something about some routine, tactical manoeuvre that would’ve bored Maverick half to death, no wonder the Iceman had liked it so much, and the Admiral nodded as he cocked his brow.

“Goose, Nick Bradshaw. Do you know him?” He sidled up on are Commander’s side.

The Commander glanced up, excusing himself from the Admiral’s presence. Together they both left Pete’s father’s den and headed towards his bedroom.

“I flew with him, yes. Why do you ask?”

“I need to find him. Where can I find him?”

The Commander looked through him like he was slow. It dawned on Pete that he was looking at the TOPGUN of their class, dressed in his pristine khakis and that meant that Goose wasn’t here. He surely was somewhere far, far away.

“Shore leave, I think. His wife, she’s absolutely lovey, and son were visiting. I don’t know if he’s still in San Diego, though.”

Pete made a frustrated noise.

“Fuck, ya can get me in an F-14, right?”

The Commander glowered, mouth working fast. Pete knew what that meant: Iceman was refraining from starting a screaming match to Val him out on his idiocy or, debating whether to kiss him senseless.

Twenty minute screaming match it is…

“You’re a _civilian_. It’s illegal and frankly, its absurd.” The Commander’s breath was finally steadying, Pete himself was red in the face.

“You’re not. _You_ can fly it.”

“The hell? Fisters—“ Pete sniggered, “—Grow up, Mitchell. Fisters have never flown Grumman. I’m trained to fly Hornets.”

Pete glared at him as though about twenty IQ points had just flown from his head.

“You just.. you asshole. You just freaking graduated TOPGUN, man! Where you fly F- fucking- 14’s!” He yelled, fist colliding with the wall as though to illustrate his point.

The Commander chuckled as Pete dabbled over in pain.

“You really are a little hothead. We fly F-18’s. C’mon man, are you really that illiterate about the aircraft your father barks on about non-stop?”

Pete didn’t answer so the Commander continued, staggering his gate.

“Mitchell, I can assure you that we do not fly those things anymore. They are old and useless, incredibly unpredictable. They’re dangerous… there are plenty of newer and more efficient models at hand.”

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“We haven’t been the only country to use Grumman since the late sixties. The Commies evened the playing field faster than what we could handle.

“The who fly the what now?”

“The Russians, Germans, Libyans whoever. It’s not a race card, Pete. They all were flying Tomcats by the mid-seventies and America had to advance.. why am I telling you all this?” He lowered his voice, rubbing at his blonde hair.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

“Holy fuck.. This is _heavy_.”

“Heavy?” The Commander questioned, “don’t think I’ve heard anyone say _that_ since my father before the war...” Their eyes met but the Commander disengaged in an instant. “A fifties thing, I guess.”

“An _eighties_ thing, ain’t it?”

Pete was getting nowhere, he had hit a mental block. He knew that there was no chance in hell he could convince the Commander to let him, a civilian fly, whether it be to the past or future. Or just for a quick spin around the block.

A _civilian_. He acted as though that very word didn’t break his heart into a thousand tiny pieces. A civilian without the soldier to carefully sweep up the shards to rebuild his heart and cement it in a fine silver.

Commander Kazansky wasn’t even fucking _trained_ to pilot the _one_ fucking jet that he needed to get the hell out of here and try and set things straight. Goddamnit, that meant that none of the students could fly one. There wasn’t a chance in hell in him getting through to any of the TOPGUN staff to help him with his.. his what? His mission? Restoring another lifetime?

Pete has inadvertently messed everything up but it was only him. Only his life, his alternate 1985. No one would believe a damn word he’d say. How could he even begin to defile himself?

He was the only one who could pilot a Tomcat then, right? The Tomcat, not a single seat. The Tomcat, that he cannot pilot alone. The mother fucking Tomcat, that these assholes didn’t even fly anymore. The decommissioned, good for nothing but _time-travelling_ Tomcat.


	3. You’re About To See Some Serious Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t hate me for this one. It all just worked and this is how it stays.
> 
> Cue Mav going ape-shit...

He hunted high and low for Goose and for Carole, stalking familiar haunt after haunt for days on end.

Pete had sat night after night and clutched at their picture on the carrier tight. He almost threw up once his eyes adjusted to the fade, to Goose’s missing thumb. Then missing hand. Then missing arm.

Then finally it came to him in a wave of nostalgia. The one place he hadn’t even thought to check: the bar. _Their_ bar.

The likelihood of Nick and Carole on a date with little Bradshaw atop of the piano singing along.. it had to work, right?

But God fucking damnit Pete himself could never hit a single note right, Goose had always known better than to let Maverick loose with the piano. Or any instrument for that matter.

He strutted into his once familiar hangout. Pete had stopped going once he and Charlie.. Yeah, stop right there, once he and Charlie.

Pete was right, in the far corner lay a moustachioed man laughing and joking with his son, his wife near in tears as she giggled with mirth, her ice blonde fringe falling into her eyes. He smiled to himself, relieved to see such a beautiful, happy family.

Pete was more than ready to make a move until another familiar figure, albeit alien to this exact location, came into view.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Pete was stunned, his green eyes scanning the bar. “Maybe that asshole dodged me the first time but there isn’t a chance in hell he can get away this time.” Pete muttered, already scheming.

He shoved a nickel in the jukebox and took a deep, surprisingly shaky breath. If Goose was beside him this would work, he’d have his twenty dollars, but it was all on him. All eyes on Pete Mitchell and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The vinyl cracked before a soft, velvety voice flowed through the room and Pete, boy was he in for it.

“Excuse me, sir’ He was already in position, using a salt shaker as his microphone.

“You never close your eyes, anymore when I kiss your li-i-ips.”

He hesitated, missing his cue. Then he remembered: he was flying solo.

“-tenderness like before in your fing-er ti-i-ips”

He tried not to laugh at the embarrassment as aviators were removed to unveil the blush coating a certain handsome, sun kissed face.

“You’re trying hard not to show it. _Ice, Ice _baby. But bay-be! Be-lie-eve me I kno-ow i-it.” He screeched adding emphasis to the most obnoxious of syllables, gazed fixed on the bar and the bar alone.

“You’ve lost that lo-vin’ fee-lin’. Wo-ah that lo-ovin’ fee-e-eeli-in’.”

No one dared to join in, fuck!

“_Tom_, you’ve lost that _lo_-_vin_’ _fee_-_lin_’, now it’s gone, gone, gone.”

Shit, he wasn’t in the presence of horny and pissed into next week sailors.

“And I can’t go on, woah-woah-ah-o.” But one particular and completely sober sailor did pitch in with a rich baritone that had been dipped in liquid silver.

Pete’s green eyes widened, his mouth hanging open. He couldn’t even remember what line came next.

“Christ you’re persistent, Mitchell, I love that song. How long have you been doing this act?”

“Since uh-“

“-Puberty? You whisk your wife away with that number?”

Pete fidgeted as the Commander tore his eyes away. They landed on his Pepsi glass in hand.

The entirety of the bar had their attention pulled to the idiot ruining a Righteous Brothers Classic. Pete hadn’t even heard the laughs, mumbles and grumbles he knew we’re flying freely. He kept his eyes on Comman— _Tom_.

Tom, dressed down in a white button up shirt that was ironed to a crisp, of course. Tom, dressed down in dark and sinfully sexy black jeans that clung to his well toned legs. He shone bright with his black combat boots and aviator jacket that was beautifully tamed with patches, mostly foreign ones but the leather shone unlike anything Pete had ever seen before. His jacket and turned back sleeves perfectly framed his chiselled torso and muscles. The motorcycle gloves laying atop of the bar. Tom.

His _motorcycle_ gloves? What?

Pete learnt forward taking in Tom’s handsome face. The less forced grimace, the perfectly plush lips that were tugging themselves into a smile. His cute nose, his tongue as he licked his lips. If Pete squinted, he could make out the faintest hint of stubble that added to that already unjustly defined jaw.

Even Tom’s _hair_ seemed more relaxed, if he could use that word to describe it. Less of the perfect ‘every dyed strand has it perfect place so ruffle them and your dead’ uptight military man and more of a ‘oh yeah, it’s the eighties. Hair flows wherever questionable hair products want it too.’ That and the earring.

Wait, the earring?

He was in civvies, so he would call him by his name and Tom would just have to deal with it.

It was a very sexy name, anyway.

“You know _Tom_,” He stretched out the syllable, “you look crazy different without all of the badges and crap.”

“Why yes Mitchell, I _do_ look different without a uniform. Good eye.” He deadpanned before coughing something into his hand.

“More _human_. Since when did you have, uh.” Pete trailed off pointing to the silver cross dangling from Tom’s left ear.

“Seventy-nine, I think. Why does it matter? Sit down, stop pulling focus.”

Pete slid in beside him, eyes fixed onto Tom’s handsome side profile.

“You’ve really gotta help me, Ice.”

“Ice? Only sol-“

“-Only soldiers can call you by your callsign as you think it’s creepy. You want to keep your work and private life as separate as you can but you find that fucking hard as you’re an _ice cold prick_ in both timelines.” Pete babbled, before he could stop himself.

He watched hazel eyes refocus and adjust on his blushing face with a new wave of challenge. Tom turned to face him, with a pen in one hand that had materialised from nowhere and a Pepsi in the other.

“The fuck do you want from me?”

“For Christ’s sake Kazansky. I need to.. to get back..” He paused. No Mav, your story is insane and nobody would believe you for a second you stupid piece of—

“Get back at?” Tom questioned.

“The United States Navy.”

Tom could’ve smacked him.

“Kidding, Kazansky. At least, I’m _kinda_ kidding. They are responsible too, partly.. not just me.” Tom’s mouth parted and Pete cut him off to continue, “I’ve gotta get that man” he nodded to Goose at the other side of the joint, “to.. yeah. You play piano, right?”

Tom’s eyebrows furrowed. “How in the _hell_ did you know that?”

“Yeah, you do. You also become Jim Morrison when you’re in the shower, no big deal. You can fight me on this whenever you want later but for now _please_ just-“ He leant forward to whisper in Tom’s ear. “Please Tom, fuck I.. then I’ll leave you alone. Just, _help_ me.”

“Pete I-“

“Be my wingman. Just for today. C’mon Ice, I know you’re not stone cold _all_ the time.”

Pete evaluated the irritation that radiated from Tom’s stance. Reluctantly, Tom rose and Pete scrambled behind him, shewing him to the piano laying mere metres from Goose.

“You better leave me alone after this, _butthead_.” Tom stated, taking a seat.

“If Goose agrees to fly with me then yeah, you can make like a tree and get outta here.”

Tom looked about ready to slap him on the head, repeatedly. Repeatedly to knock some sense into him. Or just do hurt him.

What the fuck was he saying? This was Iceman. Kind of. Whatever. It still felt wrong.

”It’s make like a tree and _leave_, you dolt. You sound like a damn fool when you say it wrong.”

Pete blushes deep, the husky way Tom had corrected him, the sharpness... no Mav, not going there. Not now.

Pete hovered over Tom’s left shoulder as he re-rolled up his sleeves and surveyed the keys. He cracked his knuckles and took a deep breath breath.

“I fucking hate you.”

“I love you too, Kazansky.”

Tom flipped him off, he pretended not to hear as the words ‘cocksucker’ dropped from his overly plump and overly sensuous lips and, shit. Here goes nothing, Mav.

Tom glared at him a final time, looking for his way out. Pete gave him no such sign.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain” Tom began, voice the perfect accompaniment to the peppy beat, “too much love drives a man insane.” His fingers rammed into the keys, “You broke my will, oh what a thrill. Goodness gracious-“

“-Great Balls Of Fire!” Pete bellowed from deep within his throat.

There they both were, Tom practically dancing in his seat as Pete made a bigger ass of himself line after line. He kept turning to Nick, who had looked up and was smiling back at him. Pete beckoned him and Nick jigged his way over.

“Didn’t think ya played anymore, Kazansky.” Nick quipped as Tom’s hands were in a frenzy, running up and down the keys in a perfect, wild rhythm.

“All together, Tom, _weeeeell_.. Kiss me baby, woo-ooo” Pete pointed to Nick who knew to sing:

“It feels good!”

“Hold me baby.” Pete signalled to Tom, letting him have his spotlight “learn to let me love you, like a lover should.”

“You’re fine. So kind. I got to tell this world that you’re” The three men all took a deep breath “mine, mine, mine, _mine_!”

“I chew my nails and I twiddle my thumbs. I’m really nervous but it sure is fun,” Pete belted, eyes on Tom who beamed, “c’mon _Tommy_, you’re drivin’ me crazy.”

Then to mostly drown Pete and his awful singing out, “Goodness gracious, Great Balls Of Fire!” Tom and Nick sang; laughing as they regained their breaths.

“You have _got_ to be shitting me.” They were interrupted by a gruff voice a metre or so from the trio at the piano.

Pete cocked his head and his shoulder’s pricked. He’d recognise that voice anywhere. Pete pivoted and took in the six feet, four inches of the Greek god himself: Ron Kerner_. Slider._

At that, Tom clambered out of his seat and practically leapt over at Ron. He crushed their lips together in a bruising kiss.

“Sorry I’m late, babe. ‘Wood had a brake light out and I had to follow him three blocks until he cranked down Huey Lewis and pulled his ass over.” Ron stated, wrapping an arm around Tom’s shoulder who leaned into him to nuzzle his neck.

“Aww, aren’t we feeling _considerate_ today.” Tom giggled as a possessive arm dropped further down his back. He sighed.

“What are you lookin’ at _butthead_?” Slider seized him up.

“What. The. _Fuck_?!” Pete stammered at nobody in particular.

He watched as Tom and Ron manoeuvred themselves into a booth as far away from the piano as Tom could steer them. Pete caught the end of ‘he got you to fricking play for him, the hell is this prick?’ as it dropped from Ron’s lips and he began to call Tom back when he felt a hand clap his shoulder.

“_Shoo-ee_, that was fun. Thanks for includin’ me...”

“Pete.”

“_Pete_. Nice name. Nick Bradshaw. You must be good. Gettin’ Kazansky up ‘ere and doin’ this for ya. You Navy?”

“Ye- no. No. My father is though. Duke, Duke Mitchell.”

He saw Nick visibly blank.

“Why don’t we take a seat. Hey honey-“ he called, “you don’t mind if he borrow’s me for a bit?”

“Naw you _big stud,_ you boys ‘ave fun!” Carole yelled back with a huge, beaming smile firmly in place.

Pete decided to interrupt the little date.

“You said you would help me, Ice.” He stated as both he and Nick slid in to the booth opposite Tom and Ron.

“Sure Mitchell. Baby I-“ Tom anxiously turned back to Ron whispering in his ear, who nodded.

Tom’s face lit up. He kissed his cheek, leaning into Ron’s welcoming embrace. Pete gulped audibly, rubbing at his forehead.

“Help ya’ll with what?”

Pete laid everything out and by everything well, he made up a shitload and only prayed the guys had the faintest clue of what he was talking about. The puzzled look on their faces told him he had failed.

Pete never took failure lightly.

“No, you see.. I need to get to that jet. I need someone, that’d be you Goo- _Nick_, that’d be you as you’ve flown the F-14 back on the USS Enterprise and I-“

“-Wait. How in damn nation do you know ‘bout _that_?” Nick asked, schooling his face into a quizzical expression.

“I ask myself the same thing every bloody time he runs his mouth.”

“And you’re gonna’ help him, Tom?” Ron asked, incredulous. Or was it accusatively?

“Hell no, he wants me because of my rank. He _needs_ Goose.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe” Pete muttered more into his Pepsi glass than back at Tom. “_Wingman_.” Pete pitched in having found his voice, surprising all three soldiers.

They bombarded him with question after question: calling him an idiot; pussy; reckless and impulsive… When Pete finally began to tire of their hurtling insults he was reminded, far too late, of the certain contents of his pocket.

How could he have forgotten?

“I want you to fly with me because we’ve _always_ freaking flown together, Nick!” He bellowed, slamming the picture atop of the table.

“Why don’t you just make like a tree and leave.” Ron spat, Tom laughing as he did so.

“See? It’s not that hard of a saying to pull off.”

”Fuck you, Kazansky.”

”I don’t think you’d enjoy explaining that to the Mrs, she likes me too much.”

Nick startled, hands lurching forward at the photograph with his eyes popping out of his head. He was breathing heavily, forming sounds instead of actual words.

“Nick, holy fuck you’re going to give him a heart attack, Mitchell. Nick, what is it..” Tom’s voice was shaky, “Mother Goose? Sweet lord.”

Nick hesitantly raised his eyes to Pete who shrunk back into his side of the booth, a wry smile on his face.

“Ta-da.” He said, with little to no conviction.

“It’s that.. that is.. that’s _me_. And _you_.. Pete. What the fuck?” Nick’s head was spinning. “May I?” He nodded to Tom who just slid him his drink. Nick downed it in one. “Shit, thanks man. The hell happen to my hand?”

“I don’t know bur there’s more of ya now than when I checked last night. I think, if you help me it’ll.. it’ll _save_ me. And you. I know it’s crazy but you, you have to help me Nick. Please. Help me get back to.. back to.. uh, 1985.”

“This is 1985, you moron.”

“Keep that up and you’ll sure as hell be embarrassed by the picture I got of _you_, Kazansky. Just you wait.”

“Of _me_?” “Of _Tom_?” Both Tom and Ron gasped in unison.

He backtracked almost immediately. “I don’t think you’ll wanna see that.. man. It’s a nice sight an’ all, don’t get me wrong but um, fuck, I.. yeah. You don’t want to see that.”

“The hell I don’t, man. Show us, Mitchell.” Slider stared him down.

“Yeah, Pete. He might just quit pussyfootin’ and help us.”

“Nick, us?”

“You’re clearly in need of somebody to be your wingman and since ya’ll say I’m ya density- _destiny_ then, damn. I’ll be there—“

“—Maverick.”

“_Maverick_?” All three voices echoed.

“And don’t you forget it _Ice_—man.” Maverick winked, with a cocky grin.

Iceman snapped those wonderfully suggestive jaws at him, eyes dark and narrowed. Within moments Tom emerged again and retreated, the shock at what he had just done.

Maverick plunged deep into his leather jacket pocket and retrieved the folded picture of Iceman in a… _compromising_ position. Maverick took a moment to remind himself of such beautifully tanned and sweaty scenery before refolding the photograph and sliding it to Iceman’s side of the table.

“Oh you little shit!” Iceman bellowed.

“Fuck yeah, Kazansky.” Slider wrestled it from him and miraculously without tearing it, wrenched it from Iceman’s grasp. He slid it into his back pocket.

“What was it? Was he nakey? Playin’ volleyball? Nakey in the sand _after_ playin’ volleyball?” Goose turned back to Maverick, “it happens a hell of a lot more than we’d like ya’ll to think.”

“Sorry Goose,” Maverick chuckled, “but it’s time to buzz the tower.” He noted with confidence, yanking Goose from the booth as Iceman and Slider followed. “The four musketeers, huh?”

“Go to hell, Mav-_erick_” Iceman spat, hitting the last syllable of his callsign hard. “Why do you even have that picture of me anyway? Granted I know I’m gorgeous and of course you can’t keep your eyes off of my tail but why?”

“Kazansky.” Iceman turned to him, “Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Now’s not the time to explain.”

”Maverick.” Slider boomed, “Why in holy fuck, do _you_ have that picture of him?”

“Gotta get all the leverage I can?” He remarked, with a cheeky look in his eye.

Both men snapped their heads to him, Iceman clutching at Slider’s arm as he had lurched himself forward. He was reigned in as together he and Iceman calmed their enraged pulses.

”Fucking creep, future boy.”

They settled on that.

***

That night back at Maverick’s place was the time to explain.

“Why the fuck do you have a _chalkboard_ in your living room?” Slider posed, resting his feet up on Maverick’s coffee table, beer in hand.

He and Iceman occupied the sofa. Iceman’s head was resting peacefully in his lap looking upwards to the ceiling. He sniffed and rubbed at his eyes.

Goose was plonked in the chair to his left; sprawled our wildly.

The deft hand massaging Iceman’s frosted tips didn’t escape Maverick’s notice. Neither did the pleased sigh.

“So apparently I can draw alternate timelines to explain that shit? I don’t know.”

“_Bullshit_!” Iceman coughed into his hand, chest heaving as he couldn’t stifle a chuckle.

“Amen to that, Ice, Ice baby.” Slider craned his neck and Iceman raised his back into a delectable arch: some crazy how managing to capture his lips.

Maverick coughed. They broke apart but not until both men had unceremoniously flipped him off.

”You got a problem with that? With _us_?”

Maverick shook his head. That hit closer to home that perhaps it really should have.

”Not very convincing, Maverick.” Iceman chimed in, voice small. “Not everyone can be as accepting as Mother Goose.” 

“It’s the times we live in, man.”

Maverick told them everything. He drew a single straight line, detailing it with ‘1985 A’ followed by the tangent that had sent he and his Goose to ‘1985 B’.

“And at _this_ point, the tangent skews off into this alternate reality which is where you lot, Navy bound, are livin’ it up but I’m fucking married and not flying. It sucks ass.”

“But how dy’a get ‘ere, Mav? Did ya ask a genie for some wishes and you fucked up the space time continuum?” Goose stated coaxing both Iceman and Slider to laugh hysterically.

“No you silly Goose. The F-14! The goddamn F-14 that _we_ took back to November 5th Nineteen. Sixty. Five. We fought in fucking ‘Naam with _spoiler alert._” Maverick blanked.

“Maverick?” Goose questioned.

“Holy shit, now you understand the commies are flying Tomcats! Jesus, how silly can you get, Mitchell?”

”Yeah yeah, Kazansky.”

“Wait. Because of _you_, Maverick, every country is flying—“

“Yes! Yes, Slider, yes. _Okay_.” He was yelling, a vein popping out of his neck, “and if you assholes help me, I can get the hell out of here, unfuck that dogfight and you guys can get back to flying the Tomcats you’re meant to be fucking flying!”

At that Iceman sat up; appalled. His hazel eyes glowered, roaming all over Maverick and his heaving chest.

”We never flew Grumman, I told you. Why would we start now?” He questioned.

Slider sputtered something vaguely threatening, his eyes dangerously narrowing on Maverick. Maybe in an F-14 the RIO doesn’t have control but crap, right here right now, Slider will blow him right out of the fucking sky. It’d probably only take one punch.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I.. shit.” Maverick shuffled over to the sofa, breaths deepening, “Are you both in or out?”

Goose took in an audible sigh and the words were wrenched from his throat,“Lets turn and burn, Mav.” They felt right. Strange.

Maverick’s heart leapt up into his throat.

“And you, Ice?” He maintained a steady gaze. Every passing breath felt like agony, just waiting and waiting for Iceman too—

“You ever speak to us like that again and I’ll let Ron knock you into the ground.”

Maverick figured he deserved that one. He stammered, gesturing wildly as he fought to get his words out.

He watched as Iceman whispered something into Slider’s ear who raised a brow and smirked.

“He’ll help you, Maverick, only to get you out of our sight.”

Maverick’s blood was boiling, he chose to try and cool it.

“Really Kazansky?”

“Yeah Mitchell. Really. I can be nice too, you know.” He deadpanned.

“Yeah, sure Kazansky. Warm blood and all. But for reals, you’ll really get me in?”

“You want me to _defy_ my CO’s orders, smuggle a civilian through the school, stand back and watch him turn on a forty-two _Million_ Dollar plane that he claims he can just _fly_ and miraculously, he’ll vanish in the sky and I’ll never have to hear him whining again?” Iceman’s tone was heated, gaining strength after strength.

Maverick shifted. Iceman pretty much had him there.

“It’s _dangerous_. Screams ‘Maverick’ if you ask me.”

Maverick’s mega-watt smiled painted his face. He felt free and alive, the hope of returning to the 1985 he knew and loved- with the both of them waiting- was so close. It was all in reach.

“We’ll leave it to you to work out the time and place, Maverick.” Slider stated as Iceman was already pulling him up off of the sofa.

“And all whatever the hell else this crazy time-machine gon’ need to take off.”

“One point twenty one jigawatts, Goose. One point twenty one jigawatts.”

“What the hell is a jigawatt?”

“Beats me. Ask the pentagon.”

“You could just ask your _wife_. She was up for that high security position.” Maverick cocked his head to Iceman as he spoke.

”And just how would I go ‘bout explaining the state that.. wait. _Was_?”

“Shit yeah, you wouldn’t know.”

”Wouldn’t know what, Kazansky?”

Goose brushed past Maverick to stand next to Iceman near the hallway. ”Ice, don’t do it, man.” 

“_Tom_?”

The three men turned away from him, finding the floor suddenly very interesting.

”What happened to her? Why didn’t she take that job? Why is she still even in Miramar? This was never what she _really_ wanted.”

Iceman heaved out a sigh, taking it upon himself to deliver the news. He turned to Goose who shrugged and to Slider who nodded sullenly. Maverick, _this_ Maverick, deserved to know.

Maverick felt crowded and dwarfed, turning to face away as Iceman stepped closer to him.

”Mitchell..” He began, throat tight, “I’m sorry but she.. you both,” He sniffed, looking up to the ceiling, “you were _pregnant_. She, she..” he coughed, stalling for time, “_lost_ your baby.”

Maverick could’ve fainted.

A million thoughts were whizzing about his head. All the what-ifs, how poorly he must have handled it. Knowing himself he would have bolted, wouldn’t have been able to provide her with the love and support she needed. He was distraught, fighting back tears to the mere thought of what _could’ve_ been.

“I.. she and I.. we lost.” He broke away, tears pricking at his eyes.

”The Pentagon offer came it ‘bout then. She couldn’t do it Mav, nobody could blame ‘er.” 

Maverick stopped stuttering as he felt a hand clap his shoulder. He raised his tearful gaze and Goose stood before him, the guilt of having helped stab Maverick in the heart tearing him up. 

Bleary green eyes focused on the hand, on the long and lean, tanned arm then, on the downtrodden look that he had never seen before. Iceman’s own eyes were watery and he sniffed again. His lips were parted, mouth moving but he couldn’t hear any of his words.

”How long ago?” He forced out the words, voice trembling even as a bare whisper.

”About sixth months. She came to my office and stuttered, screamed.. Mav, she cried for hours.” Iceman cleared his throat.

“She didn’t say anything. We didn’t know for a while.” Slider finished off.

A horrible sound tore itself from Maverick’s throat. He span round and flung himself at Iceman, his tears flowing free. He clutched with all his might to his jacket, anything to keep himself grounded.

Iceman shushed him, running his huge hands up and down his back.

“Mav,” He whispered, “you didn’t do.. anything wrong. You couldn’t help her. She.. was distraught and, shit, she hasn’t been the same since. I’ve never seen her so lost.”

Maverick reluctantly left Iceman there, he began to walk away. Stopping himself he paused and called over his shoulder. “What can I say about the Tomcat then?”

”_Weather__ experiment_.” Slider replied with a small smile, thankful for the subject change.

He was already halfway to the stair case when he heard Iceman ask if he wanted them to stay. Maverick didn’t look back. He heard the front door close.

Maverick trudged his way up the stairs, almost colliding with the final one, clutching at his chest. He approached his bedroom door, sniffing and hastily rubbing at his eyes. It was slightly ajar, he could just make out Charlie’s lean silhouette hunched over on the bed, blonde hair catching the light.

She was humming something, rocking back and fourth as her body unfolded and refolded into a small, victimised ball.

”Sittin’ in the.. mor-nin’ sun.” Charlie whispered, “I’ll be..” She coughed, the sound tore threw Maverick, “sittin’ when the, when the eve-nin’ c-omes.” 

He swiped the sweat from his brow as he shook violently. She was crying, frightened and afraid, nothing like had ever seen before.

Pete ran a desperate hand around his neck to the dogtags that once were. He choked off another sob at the lack of weight in his hands.

He left her there in agony, rocking back and fourth and back and fourth.

It was the song that had told him it was his mother’s end. He couldn’t bare to think the same for her, not a single thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand that there’s a lot of jumping back and fourth between callsigns and names here. The boys don’t know Maverick but they are beginning to know Pete, the civilian. Therefore as he gains his reputation, we can move from a first name to callsigns basis- the way it belongs. ;)


	4. My Darling Dear, Love You For All Time.

They were back in the hangar with Maverick leaning up against the Tomcat and Iceman perched on her wing.

Neither had said a word of the previous night.

“We’ve got a problem here, Ice.” Maverick stated, climbing up to meet him. “The only thing capable of creating such power is a bolt of lightning. We’d have to somehow harness that power.”

“I haven’t a clue when there’ll be a lightning storm, Mav. You’ll have to wait.”

“I checked. Not until another two weeks. I’m stuck here for another two weeks and you’ll be—“

“—I’ll be gone. It’s okay, you’ll be.. yeah. You’ll get back to your life and I can get back to mine.”

”Gone?”

Iceman crawled away from him, dismounting, leaving Maverick alone. He sat back, head up against the cool metal and he pondered everything he could and couldn’t bring himself to say.

Iceman was about to go to one of the most dangerous parts of the world. He knew, he’d been there. Granted that was twenty years ago but then again, it was only a mere two months back. He couldn’t even watch as Iceman began to disengage, pivoting on his heel and heading for the hangar doors.

“Ice, wait” he called, “can I at least, bum a ride?”

Iceman smiled a small but dazzling smile.

Together they walked in near silence, around the back of TOPGUN to where Iceman’s motorcycle was parked.

“Of all the things wrong with this damn universe, this, _this_ is the one thing I wish I could bring back.” He gestured wildly as Iceman mounted her.

“Me or the Harley?” Iceman asked with a cocky grin.

“I just can’t believe you fucking own a motorcycle.”

“Why yes Mitchell, it appears-“ He paused to rev up her engine, proving his point, “I most certainly do.”

“You know, my Iceman would be about ready to throw up.”

Maverick clambered on behind him, taking a hold of Iceman’s strong chest. A little thrill ran through him, having Iceman so close and in charge after so long. He involuntarily leant in closer, breathing in Iceman’s scent. He radiated warmth, stability and _danger_ all at once. All three scents foreign but not unwelcome.

He heard Iceman sigh as he wriggled backwards ever so slightly, back near flush with Maverick. Maverick shivered as the engine revved again and Iceman bought his two wheeled machine to life, she was purring beautifully under his steady hand.

“Let’s see if this bastard can do ninety.”

”_What_?!” Maverick remarked, the fear evident on his face.

”Kidding Mitchell. I don't have the need—“

”—For speed?”

”Not for a reckless and idiotic speed that would likely kill me, no.” Iceman smirked, hazel eyes sparkling. 

“Pussy.” Maverick ground out.

”Asshole.” Iceman barked, with a wink.

Maverick held on tight, as Iceman rode her faster and faster with such grace that it had tears pricking at Maverick’s eyes.

The ride was over far too fast. He stumbled, admitting he was a little shaky on his feet as he slowly trudged up his drive, hands in his pockets.

He was walking backwards, steps cautious, not letting Iceman out of his sight.

“12:00 hours, Mitchell.”

Maverick took a steadying breath, “I’ll be there Kazansky. I’ll be there.” He cried as he hammered the key into the lock.

He fell into step regarding Iceman with a single wave as the dull of the engine told him that Iceman had rounded the corner and his silhouette had blurred into the dead of night.

He yawned and checked his watch. 02:30. Shrugging off his leather jacket and boots he stood centre in his living room, breathing deeply.

He crept his way up the stairs.

Maverick peered through the open door to his bedroom and was surprised to see Charlie awake. Her skin appeared icy, she was backlit by the moonlight that seeped in through the window. The blinds were wide open. He could just about make out her scowl.

“Who were you with?” She asked, voice rough.

“Ice-a friend. Just a friend.”

“_Ice. Ice is that you?_” Her words shot through him, he sputtered with incoherence.

Charlie didn’t say another word. He heard her sniff, a pang of guilt shooting through him as he watched her wipe at her face. She buried herself between the slick satin sheets, hunched far over to one side. Pete just stared and stared, emotions rife. He was about to leave her in bed, again. For Iceman, again.

He was about to leave her alone in her suffering. He would never even know a tenth of what she went through: the forced smiles and laughs, showing up to work everyday as though she was still soaring, still on top of the world.

Maverick had well and truly, crashed in burned. Charlie was in a flat spin, unrecoverable, and her let her head out to sea.

He didn’t even make it to their bed. He changed course, turning on his heel and heading straight back for the door.

He had walked away from her, full of shame and cowardice, for the final time.

***

Maverick wandered aimlessly, or he wandered as the most sure version of himself throughout his entire two months of topsy-turvy hell. He stalked throughout the deserted streets, lit poorly by the dim on the lamps and the occasional front porch light. He rounded corner after corner, knowing the way as thorough as how to execute a night carrier landing.

He felt everything, too much. Not enough?

When the house came into view Maverick stopped, pausing to regain his breath. What he was about to do felt wrong and right on so many levels. He just hoped that someone would hear him and that he wouldn’t be shunned away at the door.

His right eye twitched when he saw the light on. Maverick swallowed his pride, trudging up the steps to the undoubtedly immaculate home.

The door was opened with hesitation then Maverick was being scrutinised by a shirtless and ruffled Slider.

“Maverick? What are you doing here?”

“Hey Ron, come back in bed—“ Iceman stuttered, perhaps in the midst of a dream, as he peered his head around the doorframe. “Maverick?”

He was naked, it seemed, and the only thing covering his modesty was the precious memory that Maverick had been clinging too all of this time: a pristine white pillow.

“Can I.. uh, fuck.. I’ll, I’ll go, I didn’t mean too.. _interrupt_ anything.”

“It is nearing three am. Probably about time we called it a night, babe.” Slider called over his shoulder.

Maverick pretended he didn’t hear the frustrated whine it coaxed from a certainly frustrated pilot.

Iceman was backlit, perfectly backlit by the intruding moonlight. He cautiously came into view, hands tightening about his pillow. In the silver glow he looked a little sheepish but he nodded and they let Maverick in non-the less.

The three of them stayed up for another hour or so just talking. Anything to get Maverick laughing. Iceman and Slider shared stories from TOPGUN: their victory; their rivalries; their intense volleyball matches… Maverick was transfixed. So many details were similar, he felt as though he was living every dogfight all over again; from the way sleep consumed Iceman seemed to babble on and on about each rolling reversal and split S their Hornet pulled. Iceman was practically glowing, sprawled out on the sofa opposite him.

He was snuggled up beside Slider, skewed frosted tips settled in the junction of where shoulder met neck.

“You guys really are in.. _love_, aren’t you?” Maverick was firm, oddly cautious. He tested the waters.

They looked at each other, grins wide. Slider disengaged first, running a hand through his hair as he fixed his eyes back on Maverick’s silhouette.

“He’s a real pain in the ass but yeah, you get used to it.” He winked, Iceman slapping him about the back of the head as the words left Slider’s mouth. “Hey!”

“He’s a real asshole but I’ve learnt to live with it.” Iceman retorted, lightheartedly.

“How long’s it been?”

They shared a knowing look.

“Flight School, Late ’78.”

Maverick’s mouth dropped open a little, he quickly recovered to a grin.

“Do you..” He trailed off, taking a breath, “do you _love_ him, Ice?”

There was no hesitation. Iceman was shining bright, fighting back the lack of sleep. “Since the first day I laid eyes on him, I knew I had to have him.”

“I mean, it’d be hard not to love” Slider paused for extra emphasis “all of _this_” he gestured to his rippling muscles with a small laugh.

Iceman chuckled, nodding wildly in agreement.

“And the kid is _dynamite_ in the sack.”

“Ron!” Iceman punctuated with a little slap to his toned chest, provoking a sly grin from Slider. Slider who mouthed ‘bottom’ and Maverick blushed, violently.

“You _love_ him too?”

All the jokes bled from Slider in a split second. He focused his tired eyes on Maverick. “Every fucking day of my life. I’m so lucky to have him.” He stated with the most self assured tone Maverick had ever heard from him, from either Slider for that matter. “Wouldn’t change a thing. He’s _perfect_.”

“This” Iceman pointed groggily, nodding as he suggestively waggled his eyebrows.

“Christ, you really mellow the hell up when you’re shattered, don’tcha Kazansky? You guys are really gettin’ serious then, huh?”

The smile on Iceman’s poorly lit face faltered.

“Mav” for the first time that night he sounded genuinely tired or was it defeated? “You know we can’t.. we won’t be able to.. you know.”

Slider kept quiet. He had a hand tangled in his dogtags as he fingered the beads.

Maverick finally knew what he meant. Iceman, _this_ Iceman, craved a loving and strong touch, support and strength both on the battlefield and far from it. Whatever it was they had going, it was precious and Iceman would cherish it, harness it, flaunt it whenever he could.

A huge part of Maverick was thrilled. He hadn’t ever seen Iceman so.. anything but icy. Not even Iceman back in his 1985 ever really _gleamed_ like this: simply with Slider’s arm around him; reeling him in; keeping him grounded and sure of himself.

Another part of Maverick, maybe bigger, was finally ready accept that Iceman was happy, genuinely happy. He was _safe _in those arms, he was _secure_ in that frame.

Maverick couldn’t deny, what was left of his shattered heart leapt at the very thought of how besotted Iceman was. How relaxed and open he was, how all his stress and worry would just bleed away when Slider walked into the room. As his thoughts grew, he realised with a sudden clarity that he truly was over the moon for the both of them. How could he even think to ask for anything else?

He wasn’t sure how long he was in his little contemplative daydream. Slider cleared his throat and Maverick snapped his head back up, trying to stifle his chuckles. Iceman had dozed off, resting his head against Slider’s strong shoulder.

“I better take him up. You gonna be alright on the sofa, Mav?”

He had never called him _Mav_ before. At least, not here he hadn’t. Maverick immediately relaxed.

“Yeah, you just get him cosy.” He smiled, stifling his yawn.

Slider eased Iceman into a sitting position, muscles limp and body hunched. He stirred but he didn’t wake, he resumed a state of deep sleep.

He heard Slider chuckle to himself and take a deep breath.

“Mav, get the door for us will you?”

He did, carefully shuffling past Slider as he leant down to pick Iceman’s exhausted body up, strong arms craning to support his weight. It was the classic bridal carry, making sure that Iceman’s arms were fixed tight, behind Slider’s neck.

“Ya know where we are if you need us.” 

Maverick considered, mouth parting. He nodded over and over and couldn’t help but let the ghost of a smile tug at his lips.

He saw Slider relax as a smile, not his distinct and uninterested smirk, painted his face. ”Night, Mav.”

”Night.” He replied, wistfully.

The couple brushed past Maverick who’s green eyes widened at the sight of Iceman so serene. It went without saying: Iceman was beautiful, the most stunning man he had ever laid eyes on. Whether it was a scowl or a smile, Iceman oozed confidence and cockiness: everything Maverick could ever want from him.

He watched Slider as he rounded the corner, giggling to himself when he heard the grunt that came when Slider was faced with the stairs: his next challenge.

”He owes me big time for this.”

”Damn right he does.” Maverick called back.

Maverick sprawled out on the sofa, submerging himself deep beneath the navy blue blanket. It smelt so strikingly of winter, and he couldn’t help but smile: full and hearty.


End file.
